Amon waved his hand in front of his face.
The battlefield had vanished beneath a sea of dust and smoke. Splintered trees burned around him, while the ground still trembled from the colossal explosion.
Visibility was almost nonexistent. He could barely see more than a few metres ahead.
His sharp black eyes narrowed.
'No...Someone like Alaric won't die from a single clash like that. He will be fine even after this.'
Without another thought, he sprinted toward the centre of the explosion.
His sword remained firmly gripped in his right hand.
His hatchet rested in his left.
Both weapons were coated in dense shadows that continuously flowed across their surfaces like living smoke.
Every second mattered.
He rushed through the smoke as fast as his battered body allowed.
Then a silhouette gradually emerged.
Amon's heart sank. Standing amidst the devastation was Alaric. His clothes were torn and stained with blood.
Several wounds covered his body, but he remained standing.
